


No one else

by justonemoremiraclesherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Romance, co-dependancy, going public, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justonemoremiraclesherlock/pseuds/justonemoremiraclesherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had never understood the human need for partnership, the need to bond with other people.<br/>But John was different, and the moment he let him in, he knew there was no way back. Because there was no one else for him, not anymore.<br/>See warnings and details inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Asexuality

**Author's Note:**

> And here's my new one shot collection. I'll be updating the tags along with every new chapter, and specify any warnings, if any, at the beginning of them.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of drug use.

Sherlock had never understood the human need for partnership, the need to bond with other people and, in some cases, establish a romantic relationship.

As a child, he had opted for spending his time surrounded by books to acquire more knowledge, instead of socializing with his fellow classmates, which was probably why everyone at school -including most of the teachers- found him strange and avoided him as much as possible.

High school had been worst. Instead of avoiding him, people preferred to harass him and call him names, 'freak' being their favourite insult. He didn't care, except for when these instances interfered with his studies.

He witnessed people starting romantic relationships, but most ended up breaking up in the span of two or three weeks. Absolutely pointless.

University was slightly better, if only because spending his spare time acquiring more knowledge wasn't looked down upon. Still, people became more involved with each other at this stage, so Sherlock, being the loner that he was, hadn't exactly fit in either.

Romantic relationships were more common now, and after deducing that half of them would break up in between one or two months -either because of infidelity or boredom-, he deleted all facts about the subject out of his mind. He had more important things to think about, after all.

A good thing -or bad, he would come to accept in later years- had been the drugs. It had began as an experiment, but feeling that rush curse through his veins, his thoughts sharp and more focused than ever, had been an incredible experience. And of course, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to expand his knowledge about them -which is how he progressed from cocaine to heroine.

Years later, after overdosing twice and being sent to rehab by a furious Mycroft, he met Lestrade.

He had been his first real relationship -'friendship', he had to remind himself in order not to forget the term-, not including his family, which hardly mattered, as far as he was concerned.

While they had merely began as acquaintances, mostly Sherlock helping Lestrade out when the Inspector was out of his depth in an unusual case, they had slowly progressed to something akin to friends, Sherlock had come to conclude.

They weren't particularly close, but Sherlock trusted him, to some extent, and he knew Lestrade trusted him, too, so he decided that having one relationship wouldn't be so atrocious, as long as certain limitations stayed in place.

His second relationship was a bit more unexpected.

After meeting Martha Hudson, a woman who had been abused by his husband, and ensured he was sent to prison, the woman had been... strangely grateful.

That is, it wasn't strange for a victim to be grateful, but she was... odd.

She had been the first person, even before wrapping up the case, to treat him with respect. Not even Lestrade respected him- not much, at least-, but he didn't mind. She had been sweet, offering him tea and biscuits, muttering about how skinny he was and how he should take better care of himself. He had even thought of her as 'warm', which was a ridiculous description, but still very much fitting.

After her husband was sent to prison, she invited him to dinner at her house, offering to cook him something as a thank you, and he reluctantly accepted. Afterwards, she told him that if he ever needed a place to live he could go to her, and she would be happy to help him out. He was stunned that she had remembered his passing comment -'My landlord could use with a bit of your patience, he has no appreciation for experimentation'-, and barely managed to mumble a 'Thank you' before leaving.

He hadn't been sure if he could classify her as a friend. A small part of him, deep down, wondered for a second if that's how it felt to have a present mother, a caring one. Someone warm who smelled like cinnamon and talcum powder.

An absurd thought.

He finally decided to put her in the 'acquaintance' category, thinking that he probably wouldn't hear of her again.

-

He had been wrong.

A few months later, his landlord reached the end of his rope and told him to find himself another place to live. He went to Mrs. Hudson's, who seemed delighted to see him, and ushered him inside, instantly putting the kettle to boil and giving him a few biscuits.

She had no qualms about him renting 221B, and assured him that she wasn't easily disturbed, but advised him to take in a flat mate, since paying the rent wouldn't be easy otherwise.

Which was easier said than done, obviously.

-

Or not.

John Watson had been... a surprise. Unexpected.

Interesting.

The second he thought he had the man all figured out, something else, something new came up, and put everything upside down.

And that was _before_ he saved his life and shot the cabbie.

No one had ever done something like that for him before. They hardly knew each other, and John Watson didn't even think twice about taking the life of Jeff Hope to save him. _Him_.

Either there was something seriously wrong with John Watson, or...

No. Delete. Impossible.

-

After the case was done and they went to get Chinese, John Watson had officially become his third relationship -flat mate.

They not-so-easily started to get used to each other and, even if John complained about his experiments and the mess around the flat, he never seemed truly bothered by it. There was almost a fond edge on his tone when he reprimanded him, which felt strangely like acceptance.

The thought sat oddly with him, probably because no one had ever accepted him. No one had ever _liked_ him. And yet, John did.

And as much as he tried to convince himself that he did not particularly care for John, finding out he had been kidnapped had been like a blow to the gut. And he couldn't fool himself anymore after that.

He had been scared. Him, Sherlock Holmes, scared; scared for the safety of someone else, for the safety of his flat mate and colleague and-

Afraid that his _friend_ had been hurt because of him.

-

John had thankfully been mostly unharmed, except for a light concussion. Everything went back to normal afterwards, except for his newly found relationship status -friendship.

He was not entirely sure how to feel about it.

-

Seeing John at the pool had been such a shock that his brain had short-circuited. He couldn't think, but he could _feel._ Shock being the most recognizable emotion, but there was also hurt and... betrayal.

Betrayal that his only friend, the one human being that he had allowed to get close had been lying to him all along.

But then he saw the explosives attached to him, and his brain went back into gear, a thousand thoughts shooting through his mind.

Most of all, though, he was relieved. Scared to death, though he would never admit it, but relieved.

And John; stupid, brave, wonderful John, tried to save Sherlock _again_ , but this time he offered his life in exchange.

Unacceptable.

-

Seemingly against all odds, they survived.

And while he should be glad about that, about John being all right, about John actually not being Moriarty, there was something more pressing on his mind, something that, inexplicably, everyone, including Moriarty, had seen before he did.

John was his heart.

He had accepted how much John meant to him, he had even accepted having a connection with someone else, having a friend, no matter how useless he had found the concept a few years back.

But he realized that John was more than that. What he felt for John, whatever it was, was beyond friendship. While he was aware that his experience and knowledge in that area was insufficient, he knew himself thoroughly. He was sure about how he truly felt now, even if it still confused him, and he needed to do something about it.

But more important, he needed to know how John felt.

-

While kissing John out of the blue had probably not been the best way to find his answer, he figured it would be easier than asking, knowing that expressing his feelings was not exactly an easy task for him.

Ironically enough, it worked.

John stilled, having been taken out of guard, but then kissed him back with passion, a hand coming up to curl at the nape of his neck, the other one going around his back.

And it was fine, it was more than fine actually, but then John's hand started moving downwards.

Ah. It appeared he had forgotten about something.

"Stop."

John's hand immediately stilled, and he drew back, searching Sherlock's face for something. Then, his shoulders dropped and he... smiled?

Surely smiling wasn't an appropriate reaction. He was missing something.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed..." John shocked his head, his smile softening. "Asexual?" He simply asked.

Sherlock blinked, unsure. "I'm not entirely sure," he answered honestly. "I've never been interested in anyone, but I don't think I would be comfortable with-" he cleared his throat, "that."

John nodded, his thumb drawing small circles on the side of his neck. "I presume kissing is fine, seeing that you instigated it?"

"It is."

"Anything else I should be aware of?"

He sounded thoughtful instead of annoyed or mocking, which confused Sherlock even further.

"Not as of now, I think. This isn't exactly my area, as you well now."

"That's fine." He pecked him on the lips, and Sherlock unconsciously leaned into him.

"You're not... I mean, you enjoy sex." He said, somewhat awkwardly. "Are you sure this-"

" _This_ is fine. More than fine, actually." John tightened his hold for a moment, his face turning serious. "I don't think there's anyone else for me, Sherlock. Not anymore."

Nor for him.

It appeared his relationship status would have to be upgraded once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea when I'll be updating this, but it should be twice a week, or so, depending on how busy I am.  
> Please, let me know if you see any mistakes. I'm slightly unsure about the tenses, so feel free to hit me over the head if I screwed up too much.
> 
> Hope you enjoy x


	2. Bisexual

John, contrary to popular belief, had never had a meaningful relationship.

As a kid, he had been happy and cheerful, always eager to impress his mum and fill his dad with pride. He loved his parents, even if a small part of himself favoured his mum a bit more, and looked up to his sister, hoping to have as many friends as she did, and be as charming as her.

But then, his mum died shortly after he turned twelve, and everything changed.

Dad started drinking; he was never seen without a beer in his hand. He spent long hours sat on the sofa, drowning his sorrow, drink after drink, and taking out his tension on him and Harry. Mostly him, though, because Harry had wisely opted to be out of home as much as possible, even if she followed their dad's steps and held on to any alcoholic drink for dear life.

John, upset by his mum's dead and trying to cope with an absent sister and a slightly-aggressive father, did his best to overcome the situation, but with little success. He spent his school years isolated from his classmates, who did their best to cheer him up during the first few months, but eventually left him as a lost cause.

By the time he started high school, his sister had already moved out, far away from their dad's cruel words, and he had made quite a drastic change himself, wishing to start over, to finally let go.

He made some new friends and improved on his studies, determined to get his life back on track. He spent his free time at the park with some friends, or studying at the library, not wanting to be in the presence of his father for longer than necessary, and even had a few dates with a lovely girl from his class, even if they broke up after a month, neither of the particularly interested in going further.

Uni had almost been a relief; finally being able to leave his dad behind.

He decided to study medicine in honor of his mother, who used to tell him stories about her father, who had been an army doctor, and who she had always admired for his bravery and his love for their country. He knew it would be hard, but it wasn't just for his mum that he did it. It would also be an escape, a way to finally leave his old life behind and truly start over.

While he had focused more on his studies, he had also dated some fellow classmates, almost half of them being men. He preferred girls, he knew that, but there was something exciting, almost liberating about being with another man, so why restrict himself?

The next years passed almost in a rush, and before he knew it, he was joining the army.

He had never felt so alive. There was nothing that could compare to the adrenaline, the rush coursing through his veins that the army filled him with. He had never been happier.

Almost a year and a half after joining the army, he got a call from Harry, saying that their father had died. Liver cancer.

He had felt hollow afterwards, but most of all, he had been frustrated. His father had stopped being a father the moment his mother died. He had become an angry, aggressive shell of his former self, doing nothing but drown himself in as much alcohol as possible and yell at him and Harry, almost to the point of verbal abuse. But he couldn't help but remember the time his mother was alive, and his father had been happy. How he had taught him how to play rugby, how he would stay awake at night to help him study when his mum couldn't. How loved he felt, how secure.

He had cried only once, and then pushed everything that had to do with his father to the back of his head, knowing he would simply forget about it, with time.

Or that's what he told himself, at least.

-

Near the three year mark of his time in Afghanistan, he was shot.

The details were a blur, but reliving that day every night while he slept had helped him remember some of it.

He wished he didn't.

Being back in London had been like a blow to the gut. He went to Harry's for a while, but it had been too painful to watch her with a bottle of alcohol in her hand all the time. She had become so much like their father.

He left after a week.

-

Sherlock Holmes had been a surprise. Intriguing.

Brilliant.

John had noticed that the man possessed a certain charisma, something that drew other people to him -until he opened his mouth, that is. Strangely enough, Sherlock's rude behaviour and ego hadn't put him off in the slightest. And even if they hadn't known each other for long, he instantly knew there was more to Sherlock than what met the eye.

Thanks to him, his limp was gone, the tremor in his hand had stopped, and most importantly, he had regained his sense of self.

And for that, he would be eternally grateful.

-

It was obvious that if you killed a person to save someone else, merely a few hours after meeting that certain someone, there had to be _something_ going on.

He couldn't fool himself; he knew there had been a... spark, a connection, since he had met Sherlock. And a small part of him was certain Sherlock had felt it too.

He didn't regret killing the cabbie if it meant Sherlock got to live.

He could argue that it would had been a great loss for the world if he had died, that it would have been a shame to take away that brilliant mind from existence. But the real reason was far more selfish.

He needed him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. In a few hours, the man had managed to put his world upside down, to give him his life back, and he knew he would lose everything again if he hadn't saved him.

-

Going out with Sarah had probably been a bad idea, in retrospect.

He liked her, of course, and he enjoyed her company, but it was unfair to her to lead her on when he knew he was irrationally obsessed with his flat mate.

It had been odd, realizing that.

While he knew he had attached himself to Sherlock far too fast, he hadn't actually questioned it too much. He thought it was merely gratefulness for what he had done for him, but he later realized he had been wrong.

 _This_ , whatever it was, wasn't normal. He had never cared so much for another person, had never wanted to spend every waking moment by their side, had never _felt_ even remotely like this.

It scared him, sometimes. But then Sherlock would look at him, with those eyes that seemed to look right through him, to know his deepest thoughts, and he would furrow his brows ever so slightly, his head subtly tilting to the side, and John would come to understand that this was his subtle way to show concern, and his worries would drift away, forgotten for the moment.

-

He was in love with Sherlock Holmes.

And for the record, being strapped to a bomb was _not_ the best moment to come to such an important realization. His sense of timing had always been awful.

Granted, the thought had appeared on his mind a few times, but he had always ignored it, thinking it was preposterous. Besides, he knew his feelings were unrequited, so being in denial was probably safer.

But in the second he accepted how he truly felt, while throwing himself at Moriarty, screaming at Sherlock to run and save himself, he knew it didn't matter whether Sherlock loved him back or not. He knew Sherlock cared about him, that he had become as important in his life as Sherlock had become in his.

And that was enough.

-

Unexpectedly, they survived.

Once they got home, he went straight to the kettle, eager to calm his nerves with some tea and then simply go to sleep. Sherlock had thrown himself in his armchair already, deep in thought. He quietly approached him and gently, as not to startle him, put his hand on top of Sherlock's, which was tightly gripping the arm rest. Sherlock's grip loosened, so John took his hand and curl it around a steaming cup of tea.

He tried to step away, but Sherlock's other hand shot up and caught his wrist. And then he made that face again, brows furrowing, head tilting, and he could have sworn Sherlock's eyes had softened, too. He smiled, letting him know he was all right, and Sherlock inspected him for a moment, before nodding imperceptibly and letting him go, face closed off once again.

-

Sherlock was kissing him.

He tensed up, his breath catching in his throat, waiting for his brain to catch up. And when it finally did, he simply breathed out, an arm coming up to pull him closer, his hand curling at the nape of his neck, and he kissed him back, deeply, hoping to convey everything he felt into the kiss.

Then, he tentatively moved his hand downwards, wanting nothing more but to touch Sherlock's bare skin, but unsure if it would be welcomed.

"Stop."

His hand stilled immediately. He pulled away and searched Sherlock's face, needing to make sure, hoping fervently it wasn't something else.

Ah, there it was.

His shoulders slumped in relief. He smiled warmly at him, unable to conceal his delight.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed..." He shook his head, his smile softening, wanting nothing more than to run his hands through Sherlock's curls and get rid of that vulnerable expression on his friend's face. "Asexual?"

Sherlock blinked, seemingly confused. "I'm not entirely sure," he said. "I've never been interested in anyone, but I don't think I would be comfortable with-" he cleared his throat, "that."

He nodded, his expression turning slightly more serious. He used his thumb to draw small circles on the side of Sherlock's neck, hoping to relax him. "I presume kissing is fine, seeing that you instigated it?"

"It is."

"Anything else I should be aware of?"

Sherlock's frowned deepened. "Not as of now, I think. This isn't exactly my area, as you well know."

"That's fine." Unable to resist anymore, he softly pressed his lips to Sherlock's again, a warm feeling spreading in his chest when Sherlock unconsciously leaned forward.

"You're not... I mean, you enjoy sex," he said, clearly uncomfortable. "Are you sure this-"

" _This_ is fine. More than fine, actually." He tightened his hold around Sherlock for a moment, his face completely serious now. He let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to make eye contact. "I don't think there's anyone else for me, Sherlock. Not anymore."

Sherlock simply reached out, cradling his face with his hand, and leaned forward, kissing him once again.

It was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, something happened to my computer and I lost this chapter, so I had to re-write it. Hope it's all right and, again, that I haven't screwed up the tenses.  
> Please let me know if you see any mistakes, and contructive criticism is very much welcomed.  
> Hope you enjoy x


	3. Rules

On the outside, everything remained the same.

They were still friends, of course, even after their relationship upgrade. They bickered about human body parts in the fridge, about Sherlock never buying the milk, about Sherlock's habits of not sleeping or eating on a case. Sherlock still insulted John's intelligence -or lack or thereof, _because honestly John, how could you have possibly missed this, it's so obvious_ -, John continued to storm off after an argument, and ridiculous amounts of tea were consumed in between.

But things _had_ changed, no matter how subtle some changes might have been, and everything was different now.

And with those differences, some rules were in order. Well, unspoken -but obvious- rules, that is.

**Kissing**

He never thought he would ever enjoy kissing someone else, had never seen the appeal of swapping saliva with another person, having a tongue shoved down his throat. It was messy, uncomfortable, and completely unnecessary. And while John did change some of his previous assumptions, there were still things he wasn't comfortable with.

Chaste kisses, unconsciously pressed on his scalp when John went to switch on the kettle, a brush of lips on his temple or his cheek when John left for work, light pecks on the lips when John was being playful, were utterly delightful, he'd come to accept. It always sent a tingle down his spine, to feel John's lips on him, his breath ghosting on his skin, leaving a warm feeling behind.

Then, there was the other kind of kissing. The kind which made his toes curl, his chest tighten, and seemed to switch off his brain for a few minutes, unable to focus on anything other than John's lips against his own, their breaths mingling together, John's tongue brushing gently against his; the kiss deep enough to be pleasurable, but not so much as to not overwhelm him.

There were times, though, when John would get slightly carried away, his kisses becoming more deep and frantic, and he would have to gently push him away. Afterwards, John would excuse himself and get out of the flat for a bit, in need for some air. Sherlock thought, at the beginning, that John was walking away because he was mad at him -because that's what John did, wasn't it? He left when something upset him, when he's annoyed-. But when confronted about it, John's expression instantly turned guilty, and he explained that he wasn't mad at him, he was mad at himself, frustrated for not being able to control himself, worried about making him uncomfortable.

He hoped that pulling him close to kiss him senseless was reassurance enough.

**Cuddling**

Cuddling, he discovered shortly after, wasn't as dreadful as he once thought.

It was surprisingly enjoyable to feel John's warm body against his own, John's arm curled around his waist from behind, with his face hidden on the crook of his neck. Or to simply lay down on top of John, completely attaching himself to him, John's hand drawing small circles on the small of his back.

Or sometimes, when everything was too loud and painful inside his head, hiding his face on John's stomach, with John soothingly carding his fingers through his hair, was enough to make it all stop.

**Touching**

John was a very tactile person, he was delighted to discover.

Whether it was a light brush of fingers, a hand running through his hair or caressing his skin, it never failed to bring a warm feeling to his chest.

Even more, he realized he not only enjoyed being touched, but he also liked to touch John in return.

Lightly scratching the nape of John's neck never failed to make him shiver. A brush of fingers, on the occasions when Sherlock could be bothered to prepare tea, while handing him a mug, was always met with a smile.

So yes, touching was fine, it was more than fine, actually- as long as it remained from the waist up.

Not that John had ever tried anything. He knew Sherlock wasn't interested, and he respected that.

But Sherlock, not wanting to put an unnecessary strain on their relationship, had offered alternatives. He reckoned giving John a hand job wouldn't be too bad, and it would be a good way to gather more data about him. As expected, it failed spectacularly, and no more attempts were made after that.

**Public displays of affection**

While he had grown accustomed to expressing affection, doing so in public, whether it was at the Yard or a crime scene, or simply on the street, was something Sherlock had tried to compromise about, but eventually had to give up as a lost cause.

John, of course, had merely smiled at him and said it was fine, that he didn't have to do anything that made him uncomfortable.

Which was obviously a lie, because really, there was only so much 'compromise' one side of the relationship could offer, before growing frustrated. And he knew that most compromises came from John, what with the kissing rule, the not touching below the waist, and the experiments, and his dark moods and-

It would eventually be too much, he knew, even for someone as considerate as John.

-

"Sherlock, come on, out with it." John moved Sherlock's microscope to the other side of the table, putting a cup of tea in front of him instead, and sat next to him, a worried look on his face. "You've been acting strange lately. I know there's something bothering you, and considering you've been ignoring me for the past three days, I'm going to guess it's because of me."

"Everything's fine, John. I'm simply busy, as you can see, so if you'd please-" He tried to reach for his microscope, but John's hand grabbed his wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Liar. I know what you're like when you're busy." He squirmed under John's hold, so he let him go, pressing his lips tightly together. "Look, Sherlock, if this is your passive-aggressive way of telling me you want to break up, then that's fine, but please have the decency to say it to my face, at least."

He stilled, bewildered, and slowly turned to look at John, looking almost remorseful. "John, I assure you, I have no intention of breaking up with you."

John's shoulders dropped, relief evident on his face, but he still seemed unsure. "I don't understand, Sherlock. Please, tell me what's wrong."

"I-" He licked his lips, furrowing his brows in frustration. "I have been preoccupied."

He could almost hear John swallowing the 'Obviously' at the tip of his tongue, opting instead to tentatively grab his hand.

"This isn't working," he said, instantly regretting his words when he saw John's crestfallen expression. "No, no, I don't mean _this_ ," he tightened his grip on John's hand, "I mean our... rules. Our system."

"All right," John said. He stared at him for a second, before adding, "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to explain further."

He huffed. "Our relationship isn't exactly balanced. You have to compromise far more than I do, and I'm af- concerned that you'll become frustrated, in the long run."

"Is this about our discussion from the other day?" John asked, sighing. "I told you, I'm not going to force you to do something that makes you uncomfortable. It doesn't bother me, either, so you have no reason to believe I will become frustrated with our arrangement."

"But you will, John." He let go of John's hand, standing out to pace around the kitchen. "You're not getting anything out of this. I'm the only one benefiting from this, so it is logical that you will, at some point, become unsatisfied and leave."

John assessed him for a second. Then, he got up, slowly walking up to him, and reached out to curl a hand at the nape of his neck, bringing him down until their foreheads touched.

"You're an idiot," he said. "I never expected you to change. And yes, maybe I have to compromise more than you do, but I _choose to_. If there's something I'm uncomfortable with, you can be sure as hell I will let you know. But I'm okay with this, with you, so get that thought out of your head and delete it."

He felt a warm feeling spread through him, and he avoided John's eyes, knowing that if he kept his gaze anything that came out of his mouth would be unforgivingly sentimental.

He cleared his throat. "Duly noted, John."

"Good," John said, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. "Now, since you still have _that_ look on your face, feel free to make another cup of tea to, you know, balance things out, and all. I'm sure that's an acceptable compromise."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Fluff.  
> Please, let me know if you see any mistakes, and constructive criticism is more than welcomed.  
> Hope you enjoy x


	4. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of abuse and a lot of angst.

When John got back home that evening, he went past Sherlock with not so much as a greeting and flopped into his bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off. It had been a long day at the clinic, but Harry's phone call and subsequent visit to her flat had left him even more exhausted.

"Have I done something to upset you?" Sherlock asked from the doorway, his voice tinged with confusion.

John sighed, pressing his face against the pillow. "I know this may come as a surprise Sherlock, but the world doesn't revolve around you."

After almost a minute of silence, he thought Sherlock had left, and he tried to ignore the small pang of disappointment he felt. He had been unfair with him, he knew, snapping at him like that. He had no right to be upset.

But then, the mattress dipped behind him, and Sherlock pressed himself against his back, draping an arm around him, his hand finding his own and giving it a light squeeze.

"You should have been home hours ago. If it had been because of an emergency at the clinic, you would have gone straight to the bathroom for a shower. I've done nothing to upset you, or you would have tensed up when I touched you just now and told me to leave." John huffed softly in response, and felt Sherlock brush his lips on the nape of his neck. "Harry?"

John merely nodded and closed his eyes. He focused on Sherlock's warm breath on his ear, in the feeling of his arm wrapped firmly around him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

John chuckled. "Can't you deduce it?"

"I want you to tell me. If you want to, that is. I know it helps."

John let out a shaky breath. Did he really want to talk about it? His sister had relapsed again, she subjected him to almost three hours of how screwed up her life had become, how it was all his fault, reminding him how he should have let dad-

"John?"

Sherlock sounded concerned, and he realized he had stayed silent for far too long.

"I'm fine." Was he? He wasn't so sure.  He just wanted to sleep and forget everything about today. "Just, same as always, really. Getting drunk and blaming everyone around her for her problems."

Only they weren't just her problems. They were _their_ problems. And how could he judge her for blaming him when he had blamed himself every single day? That's why he endured her drunken rants, why he supported her again and again after every relapse.

"John, you're shaking. Calm down."

Sherlock's thumb was tracing small circles against his hand, soothingly, so he tried to focus on that, urging the memories to fade away.

"Sorry."

A brush of lips on the side of his neck, a firm kiss on his temple.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

Except he did.

But he wasn't sure if he could tell Sherlock that, yet.

-

A week passed, and John slowly started to feel like himself again.

Harry hadn't called, but she had left him a text message apologising for what she'd said, and he replied that it wasn't necessary. Sherlock had been cautious with him, careful of how he acted and what he said, not wanting to upset him. On the third day, John, tired of his behaviour, threatened him with sleeping on his own for the rest of the week if he didn't stop. His shoulders had dropped, and a small, but slightly worried smile appeared on his face, but everything went back to normal afterwards.

Until, of course, Harry called him again when they were at Scotland Yard, after wrapping up their latest case.

He left the room and spoke to her in a hurried, hushed tone, making sure no one was around to hear him. Sherlock and Lestrade looked concerned when he entered the room, but thankfully didn't ask any questions.

Only Sherlock _did_ say something when they were outside again, and John said he had to go see Harry. And no matter how much he wanted to say no, how much he dreaded the thought of Sherlock meeting his sister, he said he could accompany him.

This was his first mistake of the day.

-

"Hello, Johnny. So nice to see you." Harry smirked, and John flinched at the glass of wine on her hand. "Oh, and who's this?" She turned her attention to Sherlock, her eyes roaming appreciatively over him. "Didn't tell me you've got yourself a boyfriend."

Before Sherlock could speak, he said, "He's my flat mate; I've told you about him already."

He felt Sherlock tense beside him, and a wave of guilt washed over him.

"Nice to meet you. Sherlock Holmes." His voice was perfectly polite, and John knew he had upset him, but he knew it had been for the best.

He only hoped Sherlock would be willing to hear him out once they got home.

Mistake number two, and counting.

-

"So, a detective?"

"Consulting detective, yes."

"That sounds interesting," Harry said. She downed the rest of her drink, already reaching out for the bottle for another glass. "Well, come on then. Do the thing."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "The 'thing'?"

"Yes, that thing Johnny is always gushing about on his blog. Deduce me."

John risked a glance at Sherlock, before turning his attention back to Harry. "Harry, I don't think-"

"Afraid I'll embarrass you in front of your sister?" Sherlock muttered, low enough so she wouldn't hear him.

John pressed his lips tightly together, and stayed quiet, while Harry ushered Sherlock to 'read' her.

"All right," Sherlock turned his full attention to her. "Mid-forties, single. You broke up with your last girlfriend less than a month ago- No, she broke up with you. Couldn't stand the drinking. You're about to be fired from your job, too many missed shifts, and your performance hasn't been up to standard. You show signs of past verbal abuse, but-"

"Stop," John whispered, having caught the annoyed expression on Harry's face.

Sherlock came to a halt, his eyes shifting to John.

"You're just guessing. You couldn't possibly know all that." She looked tense, her grip on the glass almost painful.

"I never guess. I see, and I deduce. You-"

"Sherlock, please, leave it," he begged, seeing that Harry was at the end of her rope.

"Did Johnny tell you all that?" She sneered. "Funny how he always mentions all my faults, and can't even see how screwed up he really is. And whose fault is that, I wonder?"

"Enough. This is not the time, nor the place for this conversation."

"Oh, no, I think it's the perfect time. You should be more honest with the man you're shagging, John; I can see he's desperate to know."

He closed his eyes, running a hand over his face, ignoring the throbbing pain on his temple. "I told you, Harry, we are not-"

"Of, for God's sake, how stupid do you think I am?"

"Extremely, apparently," Sherlock said. "But he's not lying. We are not shagging, but we are, in fact, together."

John resisted the urge to groan, and was almost tempted to snatch the glass from Harry's hand and down it all in one swig.

"Oh, please, do you expect me to believe that?"

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "I am asexual, not that it's any of your business. So no, sorry to disappoint you."

She laughed, turning his attention back to John. "Oh, God, he really is a freak, isn't he? Guess you're perfect for each other, then."

John remained silent, and he could see Sherlock's eyes on him, waiting for him to say something. But he couldn't, not now.

Mistake number three.

-

The ride back home was tense. Sherlock hadn't spoken a word since they left Harry's flat, and John couldn't bring himself to, either. As soon as they arrived home, Sherlock went straight to his room, closed the door, and locked it.

Repressing a sigh, John walked over to Sherlock's room, knowing that it would be worst if he delayed the conversation.

"Sherlock?" Silence. "Sherlock, please, open the door. We need to talk." Nothing. "Please, I'm sorry. Let me explain. Please."

A second later, he saw the light going off through the gap. He let his head fall against the door, trying to ignore the pain on his temple, and the lump in his throat.

He turned around and slid down, his back against the wall, resolute to talk to him the moment he stepped out of his room.

-

He opened his eyes, and looked around him, trying to fight off the last remains of sleep. He remembered falling asleep on the floor, but he was in a bed now.

No. Sherlock's bed.

"Good Morning."

He turned around and found Sherlock lying next to him, and felt an ache when he noticed the distance between them.

"Morning," he murmured. "Thank you for... well, putting me to bed."

"I didn't want your shoulder to hurt when you woke up stiff from the strain." Sherlock was looking down at the mattress, his voice flat. "Why didn't you go to bed?"

"I wanted to speak with you, since I didn't get a chance to do it last night."

"I think you said quite enough already," Sherlock said, his jaw clenched.

"I know I screwed up." He tentatively placed his hand on top f Sherlock's, not holding it, just resting it on top of his, and was slightly relieved when he didn't pull away. "I want to explain what happened, but- There are things I'm not sure I'll be able to talk to you about. Not yet, at least."

Sherlock stayed quiet, and John was about to apologise again, when he felt Sherlock twining their fingers together, and giving a small nod.

"I suppose you're wondering why I didn't tell Harry about us." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "And why I didn't say anything when she... insulted you."

"I don't need you to defend my honor, John."

"I know."

"Are you ashamed of us?" He sounded more curious than hurt, but John could see the hint of pain hiding in his eyes.

"Of course not," he quickly reassured him, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "It wasn't because of you, Sherlock. It was her."

"I don't understand," he said, slightly annoyed with himself.

"There's something Harry has always blamed me for. I let something happen, and I've felt guilty ever since." He stared at their hands, reassured by Sherlock's light squeeze, urging him to continue. "Shortly after that incident, she left, and I didn't see her again until I came back from Afghanistan. And I know it's stupid, and it probably doesn't help in the long run, but... I've tried to support her, and take her side in everything. I try to help her go to rehab, but she knows I'll be there when she needs me if she keeps drinking, whether if she needs someone to yell at, or money."

"So yesterday..."

"As you said, her last relationship failed. I didn't want her to know about us, because I knew it would bother her, and I knew she was going to be difficult about it. That's why I wanted you to stop deducing her. She was going to focus her anger on you, instead of me, and I wasn't sure I would be able to tell her off." He raised his gaze, desperate for Sherlock to understand. "And I didn't, and I'm so sorry. You're my partner, I should have said something. You know I don't think you're a freak, there's nothing wrong with you."

"John, stop." Sherlock let go of his hand and he stilled, afraid he was going to leave, but Sherlock reached out to cup his face, moving closer to him. "I understand; you don't have to apologise. I won't deny I was... upset yesterday, but I should have seen. If my mind had been clearer, if I hadn't been so irrational, I would have realized sooner."

John leaned forward to rest his forehead against Sherlock's, a shaky breath escaping from his lips. "Thank you," he whispered.

Sherlock pulled him closer, pressing a kiss on his temple, his hand soothingly rubbing his lower back.

"May I ask you something?"

John pulled back, frowning at how serious Sherlock looked, and nodded.

"The incident you mentioned... Is it related to your father?"

John froze. "Don't."

Sherlock pressed his lips tightly together, obviously eager to fin his answer, but not wanting to upset him further. John kissed him lightly on the lips, on his jaw, and on his neck, his lips lingering on Sherlock's pulse point.

"I'm not ready, yet. I'll tell you about it, and I'm sure you know most of it by now, but I can't. Not now."

"All right," Sherlock whispered. "All right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of a challenge, and slightly different than the other two. And just for clarification, while the fic will focuse on Sherlock and John's relationship, not everything will revolve around that.  
> Hope you liked this anyway. Please, let me know if you see any mistakes, and constructive criticism is more than welcomed, as always.  
> (Specially for this chapter, because I think it turned out awful. And ooc. I'm really sorry.)  
> Lots of love x


	5. Caring

"Sherlock, have you seen my phone?" asked John, walking into the kitchen. He grabbed a mug, his other hand already reaching for the kettle, and groaned when he saw its contents. "Why are there _eyes_ in the kettle? _Again_?"

He was met with silence. He let out a long suffering sigh and turned around. Sherlock was hunched over his latest experiment, seemingly unaware of anything else around him.

" _Sherlock_ ," he repeated, glancing at his watch. He was going to be late for work again; they had arrived at 3 am last night after a case and he had forgotten to set the alarm. Sarah was going to kill him.

"Busy."

"Sherlock-"

"Experiment. Don't touch them. Now, hush."

With an amused huffed, John stepped closer to him, but stilled when he saw Sherlock's experiment up close.

"Is that my phone?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock sent him an irritated look. "It would be more accurate to say it 'was' your phone... Melting it seems to have taken away its ability to function properly."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to use my things for your experiments?"

"I required a phone, yours was available. I don't see the problem," Sherlock said, not longer paying attention to him.

"You could have used yours," muttered John. Resigned, he grabbed his keys and shrugged on his coat.

He left without saying another word, but he doubted Sherlock would even notice.

In fact, Sherlock had been acting like this all week. He was either dismissive, or he simply downright ignored him, though today he had added his 'let's make John's life impossible' mood to the mix.

Admittedly, he was starting to get a bit worried it had something to do with what had happened at Harry's, but deep down he knew it didn't make any sense. Sherlock had been supportive, and his presence had helped far more than he thought possible. Still, that didn't stop him from being worried. He knew it must had been hard for Sherlock to deal with him the past week, since he had been too focused on himself, filled with guilt an doubts. Still, he reckoned he was slowly getting over it this past few days and, coincidently, Sherlock had apparently decided to give him the cold shoulder almost a the same time.

And while he was bothered by it, he couldn't put the blame on him. So he simply kept his mouth shut, and let him be.

-

Because of a sudden flu eruption, and Sarah's justified frustration with not only his lack of responsibility, but with how distracted he had been this past few days, he ended up doing a double shift at the clinic. By the time he reached Baker Street, he decided that he wasn't as hungry as he was exhausted, so he would skip dinner, have a quick shower and simply get into bed.

Nothing was so simple when you lived with Sherlock Holmes, however.

"Why is there no water?"

Sherlock hummed distractedly, not taking his eyes off his laptop.

"Sherlock," John sighed, trying to control his temper, "remember when I explained to you the process of paying the bills? Did you put it in practice when I asked you, repeatedly, to pay the water bill?"

"I deleted it."

"What?"

"You know I only remember useful things."

John drew in a breath, counting to ten inside his head.

"Couldn't you have at least let me know?"

"Forgot." He dismissed him.

Trying to remember why he loved the man so much, John simply went to to bed, knowing that an argument would only complicate things further.

-

An hour an a half later, he was woken up by the screeching sound of Sherlock's violin.

He clenched his jaw, thinking about how killing Sherlock right now wouldn't really resolve anything, but storing the thought in the back of his head as a back up plan.

He went to the sitting room and found Sherlock sprawled on his armchair, seemingly unaware of his presence. _Again_.

"Sherlock, it's 2 am. Can't your sulking wait until a more reasonable hour, at least?"

Sherlock's attention immediately shifted to him, and if his annoyed expression was anything to go by, he hadn't appreciated John's comment.

John knew that criticizing Sherlock was never a good idea, the man got offended extremely quickly- a bit hypocritical, really, considering he said far worst things to everyone on a daily basis. But he'd had a crappy day, he was exhausted, and Sherlock's sudden 'let's ignore John and make his life irritatingly difficult' mood was wearing him thin.

"Just because you are in a bad mood, John, doesn't mean you can take it out on me. First, you overreact because I borrowed your phone, then, you blame me for your inability to pay the bills on time, and now you complain about the violin, when you could just as well ignore it. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Yes, sleep! But I can't, because my idiotic, inconsiderate flat mate can't be thoughtful for a few hours to let me do so."

"Tough. You should try sleeping in your own bed, maybe the noise won't be as loud there, and I can finally go back to thinking in peace."

John closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. "You know what? Fine."

He made his way to his own room, and, surprisingly, fell sleep almost instantly, probably because of how emotionally drained he was and his body's exhaustion.

He was dimly aware of the soft sound of music coming from downstairs, but he was far too gone to give it a second thought.

-

The first thing he noticed when he regained consciousness was a warm body curled up behind him, and a long arm draped over his chest.

He relaxed against Sherlock, enjoying the feeling of his lips brushing lightly over his throat, until he remembered yesterday's events. Now fully awake, he tried to disentangle himself from Sherlock, but the grip around him tightened.

"Let go. I'm still mad at you."

"I know," Sherlock whispered, "that was the point."

"You- What?" Confused, John rolled over to face him. "What do you mean 'that was the point'."

"You have been... upset since the incident at Harry's. I realized I had no idea how to make you feel better, and I became worried when I noticed you weren't sleeping properly."

"So you decided to worsen my mood, after ignoring me for days, and wake me up in the middle of the night. Yes, that helped a lot, thank you."

Sherlock looked slightly worried, but a small smile appeared on his face. "You slept just fine last night, though, didn't you? In fact, despite of your annoyance, you have been sleeping better since then. And while you have been frustrated with me this past week, you seemed remarkably more calm- until yesterday, that is, but it was necessary, I'm afraid."

John sighed. "Let's assume what you're saying is truth. How could last night be necessary? Where you hoping I would let out my frustration by strangling you?"

"You didn't even flinch when I mentioned the night at Harry's," Sherlock said quietly. "By stepping over your boundaries, I managed to deflect your focus to me and turn your distress into irritation. That, I can deal with."

"All right, let me get this straight," John said, "you put me through a week of torture so I would get over our fight with Harry?" Sherlock nodded, almost hesitant. "You git," John huffed. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"Oh, John, please. I had to over do it a bit, but-"

"No, you didn't. You are _that_ insufferable all the time, only I usually have the patience to deal with it."

Sherlock frowned. "I've been trying to tone it down, lately," he muttered.

John smiled, pulling him in for a kiss. "It's fine. You know I don't mind. _Much_." He kissed him again, caressing Sherlock's cheekbone. "Thank you. It's nice to know that you care, in your strange, Sherlockian way. Don't think you're off the hook, though. I'm still phone-less, thanks to you."

"I bought you a new one already." Sherlock snorted. "I did think this through, you know."

"Whatever you say."

Sherlock nipped lightly at his lower lip. "Now hush and go back to sleep. Caring is more tiring than I thought."

"Well, good to know you can finally empathize on what I go through every day."

"Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay. I've been sick this past week, and I actually wrote this while having a fever (which I still have, actually), so it turned out a bit short.
> 
> Hope you like it, nevertheless, and please let me know if you see any mistakes.
> 
> Lots of love x


	6. Insecurity

John Watson had always considered himself a man who did not get jealous.

Granted, he had never had any reason to. He hadn't had any serious relationship when he was younger, and after he came back from Afghanistan, a relationship wasn't exactly a priority. But of course, everything changed when he met Sherlock.

Or more importantly, everything changed when they met Irene Adler.

-

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, John"

With a tired sigh, John closed his laptop, left it on the coffee table, and turned his attention to Sherlock, who was sprawled on the sofa, his gaze unfocused.

"Feel free to explain yourself, whenever you feel like it."

Sherlock distractedly glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. "What I meant is that I _observed_. You have been acting estrange since we left the Adler residence, but you completely withdrawn the moment you saw her on our bed."

"Have I?"

Sherlock huffed. "Do I have to remind you that I'm very much uninterested in sex? I have no intention of sleeping with Mrs. Adler," he said, finally looking at John, "so whatever it is that is worrying you, stop. Nothing will happen. I have no interest in her beyond an intellectual level."

And that, John mused, was exactly the problem.

-

For someone as observant as Sherlock, John was surprised he had been so utterly wrong about the reason behind his concern.

He knew Sherlock would never sleep with Adler, he had no doubts about that in his mind. Sherlock had proved how uninterested in sex he was, and that was fine.

His worry came from the knowledge that, to Sherlock, who was so beyond the physical, the mind held much more value than the body. And Sherlock had shown how much he admired Adler's mind, how brilliant he thought she was. How could he, average John Watson, ever compete with that? He had always had doubts about the possibility of a relationship between them, but he had kept those worries in the back of his mind since Sherlock kissed him. But now, there was someone else interested in him, who wasn't scared off by his singular mind, and who could actually compete with him in an intellectual level. And that interest went both ways. Why wouldn't Sherlock want to be with someone like her? What could John possibly offer him that was better than what _she_ had to offer?

-

"I'm sorry," John said. "About Adler."

"It's a great loss."

_For the world or for you?_

"I know you... cared about-"

"Must we have this discussion again" Sherlock said, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. "She had a brilliant mind, and that was it. I'm sorry she's dead, but empathically, I couldn't care less."

"All right."

He rolled over, his back to Sherlock, and a few seconds later he heard a sigh and felt his arm encircling his waist.

"It's funny to me how you get jealous so easily when I'm the one who has more to be worried about."

"Hmm?"

"You've dated before. In fact, you were dating Sarah a few months before we got together."

"I've never had a serious relationship before you. Even with Sarah... nothing happened. I was too busy pinning over my eccentric flat mate."

Sherlock huffed, and placed a soft kiss on the nape of his neck.

"I've never had any relationship, period. You're the only one who's ever captured my interest, John. Why can't you understand that?"

_But I'm not the only one anymore. And what's going to happen when the interest fades away?_

-

Irene Adler wasn't dead.

While the revelation had worried him a bit, he was glad it meant Sherlock's silent brooding would stop- until he found out that Sherlock _knew_ , because he had been the on to save her. The fact that Sherlock had lied to him about it hurt even more than the truth- that Sherlock did care about her, enough to risk his life to save her and keep her safe, and lie to him about it.

He knew he was being selfish. He was thankful that Sherlock had found someone who he could relate to, someone who understood what it was like inside his head, because while it pained him, he knew he could never   be what Sherlock need in that aspect.

In fact, that was the core of it. He would never feel good enough, because he would never be able to give him what he needed. On cases, he was merely a sounding board; he would never be able to actually participate in his deductions, to have an input, because he wasn't smart enough. And while he knew physical appearance didn't interest Sherlock that much, he couldn't help but feel a small ache every time he looked a his wounded shoulder, at how average-looking he was compared to Sherlock.

And looking at Irene Adler, who had captured Sherlock's attention the moment he laid eyes on her, had caused him to face the thoughts that he had been trying so hard to ignore.

-

"So," John said, "she's alive."

"John-"

"You lied."

"It was necessary. And may I remind you, that you lied-"

"Because I was trying to protect you," he snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. "You didn't trust me, and you kept lying afterwards."

"John, you're taking this out of proportion."

"Are you in love with her?" He regretted it as soon as the question left his lips, and instantly felt foolish about it.

Sherlock stared calmly at him, his expression turning serious. "I think I have underestimated how worried you truly were. This isn't solely about jealousy, is it?" He walked up to him, his eyes roaming over his face. "You are genuinely upset about it. You truly think I have feelings for her, don't you?"

John lowered his gaze, taking a step back. "I don't want to talk about this. Forget it, just- delete it." He turned to leave, but Sherlock caught his wrist, pulling him closer again.

"John, talk to me."

"Let go."

"John-"

He tugged his wrist off Sherlock's grip. "Why? Why are you with me, when you could be with someone like her? I have nothing to offer you." He shook his head, lowering his gaze again. "We both know all you care about is this," he said, pressing a finger to his temple, "and I'm not smart, I'm not- but _she is_. You keep telling me how brilliant she is... and how could I ever compete with that?" he whispered.

 Sherlock tentatively took a step towards him. He grabbed his chin and tilted his face up, seeking his eyes. "Is that how you have been feeling all this time?" John nodded. "Why didn't you tell me? You're the one who always says we should be honest with each other."

"Because it's stupid, and I though you would mock me for it. And... I was scared."

Sherlock's hand moved to cup John's cheek, brushing his cheek with his thumb. "You're an idiot," he said, without his usual bite. "I won't deny I admire her mind. I find it fascinating. But," he added, "that's all there is. I saved her because I do think it would have been a great loss if she had died, if a mind like hers would have been wasted like that. If she had died, yes, I would have been upset. But if something happened to you, John, anything... I don't think I would ever recover. I would curl into a ball and rot, because I can't fathom a world without you in it."

John let out a shaky breath. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against Sherlock's. "I am an idiot."

"You are. And I love that about you. I don't think our relationship would work if you were more like me, or Mrs. Adler, John. You're fine just as you are."

"I love you," John breathed out, merely a whisper.

Sherlock pulled back a bit and pressed a kiss to his temple. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have noticed that there has been too much John whump (sorry. I do love John whump). The next few chapters won't be nearly as angsty as these past ones, but there will be more angst (including Sherlock whump) in the future. Sorry.  
> Please let me know if you see any mistakes, and constructive criticism is more than welcome.  
> Hope you enjoy x


	7. Announcement

Sherlock Holmes was a private person.

Ironic, really, when he spent so much time trying to figure out every single detail about everyone else around him.

Still, since his conversation with John following the 'not quite death' of Ms. Adler, he couldn't get a pressing matter out of his mind, the thought often interrupting his focus while in the middle of an experiment, or while he entered his mind palace: The issue of going public.

It wasn't like they were hiding their relationship, nothing of the sort. However, since he preferred to keep his private matters to himself, no one really knew about their relationship- with the exception of Mycroft, of course, but he had still to acknowledge the fact. There was also the problem with his own reluctance with public displays of affection. He had tried to be more demonstrative outside of the flat, mostly for John's sake, but it hadn't work out. Maybe in the future, if he became more comfortable with it, they could go about it, slowly, but for now, displays of affection were strictly saved for the intimacy of their home.

The more he thought about it, though, the more he wanted people to know about them. He hadn't lied to John we he'd said that his relationship with Sarah hadn't sat well with him. He wanted people to know John was off the market, he wanted John's attention to be solely on him, no matter how selfish he knew it was. But even more, while he hardly cared what people thought of him, a small part of him wanted to prove that there was someone who did care about him, who accepted him for who he was, who didn't think of him as a freak.

Besides, he knew that John also wanted people to know about them. While he was reluctant to share much about himself, he had no qualms about talking about Sherlock, about them, even if he merely stuck to the non-romantic aspects of their partnership.

His main fear had been, at the beginning, that if they told people about _this_ , John would have taken it as a sign that their behaviour inside the flat could now be extended to the outside. But, as always, when it concerned John Watson, he had been wrong. John had always respected his limits. If he knew Sherlock wasn't comfortable with something, he didn't push.

So would it be so bad to give him this, something that he also wanted, when he was aware about his shortcomings when it came to their relationship?

-

"Sherlock?"

He looked up and found John looming over him, a concerned expression on his face.

"Do you want to tell people?"

"Sorry?"

"About us," he clarified. "Do you want to tell people about us?"

John stared at him for a few seconds, evaluating his question, before sitting on the armchair in front of him.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

John nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving his own. "Nothing has to change, you know? Just because we tell people that we're together... it doesn't mean we have to act differently."

While he had expected this, he couldn't help but relax slightly at John's words. "Good. That's... good. Thank you."

"Of course." John smiled. He got up, kissing the top of Sherlock's head while he passed by him, and went into the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Please."

-

Telling Mrs. Hudson had gone, as expected, without a hitch.

She'd hugged both of them, and said how she always knew they would be together since the first time she saw them interact with each other, and something about soul mates that Sherlock couldn't help but scoff at, earning him a smack in the arm from John.

He had also sent a text to his brother, which simply read 'John and I are in a relationship. SH', and Mycroft had responded with a simple 'Congratulations. MH', while John had called his sister -albeit, reluctantly- to tell her the news, glad to find her sober for a change, which had ended in her insisting that they came over for dinner sometime that week.

As expected, breaking the news to Scotland Yard had been... not as simple.

Of course, Lestrade had been beyond happy- if not slightly amused. He told John that he was glad that there was someone in Sherlock's life, specially because he could keep him in line when he was being unnecessarily difficult at crime scenes. He had thanked him nevertheless, if only because John had sent him a warning look.

And that's where the congratulations stopped. The other officers were not as supportive about their relationship, but Donovan had been the only one who had confronted John directly about it.

"So," he overheard her while he inspected the crime scene, a few days later, "you and the freak, huh?"

"Sherlock," John replied, and he caught John's rigid posture with a quick glance. "I would appreciate it if you called him by his name, at least when we're around. And I think our relationship is none of your business."

"I have a great deal of respect for you, John. I don't know why someone like you is with someone like _him_ , and you're right, it's none of my business. But you're a smart man," she lowered her voice, "you know he will hurt you, sooner or later. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Maybe he will," John said, calmly. "And I'll probably hurt him too. But that is between him and me. I appreciate your... concern, but I don't think hearing relationship advice from someone who is sleeping with a married man will do me any good." He heard Donovan's sharp intake of breath. "Listen, Sally, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so harsh, but you could do so much better. Why do you let him treat you like that?"

"I could say the same thing."

"Don't make deductions without having all the facts. You only see the side of Sherlock he wants you to see. Can you honestly tell me that Anderson acts differently in the short amount of time you both are alone?"

The conversation had ended there, and he never got to see Donovan's reaction. He thought that would be the end of it, until two days later, when she came up to him, a determined expression on her face.

"I just wanted to say... I'm happy for you two." She drew a small smile, but a second later it was replaced with a frown. "For the record, though, if you break his heart, I'll make sure you don't step another foot on a crime scene ever again. Don't think Lestrade wouldn't side with me on this."

"Duly noted, Donovan. Oh, and..." She looked expectantly at him. "Good on you to finally break things with Anderson. He _was_ holding you back." And without another glance at her he left, without noticing the surprised -and slightly amused- look on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever wrote something inside your head, and it turned out amazing, but when you can finally get on the computer to write EVERYTHING IS GONE.   
> Why  
> So either this chapter is terrible, or it's just my mind laughing at me. As always. Sigh.  
> Hope you enjoy anyways, and constructive criticism is more than welcomed, as always x


	8. Mycroft

"Being in a stable relationship _and_ going public, from the man who thinks caring is a disadvantage?" Mycroft said from John's armchair, eyes fixed on his umbrella, which he was twirling in his right hand. "You surprise me, dear brother. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Mycroft." Sherlock sneered from the doorway. "Thanks for coming by; please feel free to make your way out now that your message has been successfully delivered."

Sherlock closed the door behind him, throwing his coat on the couch, and with an annoyed sigh at Mycroft's immobile figure, he sat in front of him.

"Where's John?" Mycroft asked, his eyes roaming over the living room.

"At the clinic, as you most certainly know already. He will be back soon, and I'd rather you were gone by then."

"No need to be hostile, Sherlock. I merely came around to congratulate you properly."

Sherlock huffed. "You mean you came around to change my mind, to tell me how my relationship with John will only end in disaster, and I should break it off before I ruin him." His face was impassive, but there was an imperceptible twitch on his left eye which betrayed how irritated he truly was.

If Mycroft noticed, he didn't acknowledge it.

"On the contrary," Mycroft's eyes finally met his, and for a moment, he thought Mycroft's gaze had softened, before he put up his usual stoic mask again. "I came to tell you I'm proud of you."

"That's something I've never thought I would hear coming from you."

"Believe it or not, I do worry about you, Sherlock. I have always feared you would end up alone."

"I managed quite well before John. I don't need him."

"Don't you?" Mycroft asked, his voice soft.

Sherlock took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. He knew as well as Mycroft that it was a lie. While he had managed perfectly well without John in his life, he _did_ need him. He didn't think he could go back to being alone, not after John.

No matter how much he tried to deny it, he _had_ changed.

"There is no shame in being loved, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "And there is no shame in reciprocating those feelings, either."

"Isn't it?" Sherlock whispered. "I'm not myself anymore, Mycroft. I have changed. I'm closer to another human being that I've ever been in my life, and..." He took a deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes, "It terrifies me."

Was this how people in a relationship felt? Like they weren't a single entity anymore? Like the line between 'me' and 'us' overlapped to the point where they constantly needed the other person; like the mere thought of losing them made their brain stop functioning properly, and their heart beat faster, until they could reassure themselves that they were still there, that they were still _theirs_?

He had never been co-dependent before. He wondered if it was healthy, if this was how it was supposed to work. But he didn't care, he realized. He needed John, just as much as he knew John needed him.

And he was happy, wasn't he?

"Have you told him?" Mycroft asked.

"He knows."

_Did he?_

Mycroft nodded, a curious expression on his face.

"If you say so." He stood up, his umbrella in hand, and walked away.

"Mycroft," Sherlock called, and his brother came to a halt, his hand on the doorknob, facing away from him. "Thank you." He cleared his throat. "And do stop coming around uninvited. It's an unpleasant surprise to come home to you."

-

"Mycroft, hello," John smiled politely, passing by him on the stairs. "Case?"

Mycroft stared at him for a moment too long and then said, "No, I was merely checking in on him. Nothing you need to concern yourself about."

John frowned, confused. His gaze shifted up to the flat, as if he could sense Sherlock through the wall.

"John?" Mycroft said, regaining his attention. "Take care of him, would you?"

"Of course," John said, his expression a mixture of surprise and determination.

Mycroft merely smiled and, with a small nod, he made his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short chapter. I'm working on a fic for the LetswriteSherlock challenge on tumblr, and it's turning out quite long, so most of my focus has been on that.  
> Please let me know if you see any mistakes, and constructive criticism is more than welcomed, as always.  
> Hope you enjoy x


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